


they call it courage.

by zabiume



Category: Bleach
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Very Okay and Average Parent Isshin Kurosaki, mentions of baby making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabiume/pseuds/zabiume
Summary: "They were here for a reason, a leap of courage that both she and Ichigo had taken into the future – despite everything that tried to chain them to the past."[or] Ichigo and Orihime, plus one.
Relationships: Inoue Orihime/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	they call it courage.

**Author's Note:**

> **crescent cut 101** requested for a story about Kazui that was thematically similar to [the center of the universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267403/chapters/70296006) but it was too long to post to my six hearts collection so I posted it separately. 
> 
> Title & theme is from Aizen’s dialogue in 686 (I think). Despite the summary, this is PG, I swear.

In the beginning, they had talked so much about it that having a baby felt like a fever dream. Twenty-five and married had been on the cards for a while, even if it was a bit young, but a child…that was a different story.

It wasn't even that Ichigo didn't want a baby or a family – it wasn't that at all. In fact, he'd known from the start that this was all too natural for someone like him. Someone who liked to create a little mountain of his own and defend it. Point at all the people he held close to his heart and say, _'this, I want to protect.'_

It was just the opportunity cost of it all that had him staying up at night. Orihime had only just been promoted to assistant manager _–_ had been toying with going back to school for a while _,_ too _–_ and he was still finding his footing, fresh out of college and writing current events for the local paper.

 _“I won’t love you any less for not wanting one, you know,”_ Orihime had said gently, and his throat had jammed with emotion, even as she was pressing a reassuring kiss between his brows. _“That’s not even the bulk of why I married you.”_

And there was that, too. Just how much work him and Orihime had put into this thing– this thing they called their life, not so much distinct as ‘his’ and ‘hers’ now. Every step of the way, on nights he’d tossed and turned (and woken her up as well in the process), she’d said, _‘I knew what I was getting into,’_ and the inner part of himself had wanted to protest that she didn’t. That this part of his life was sacred to him, quiet in the way he hadn’t been allowed to luxuriate in before, and while he would always love being a shinigami, he couldn’t exactly up and dump his body out of nowhere to avert some new crisis or the other. He couldn’t look his wife and kid in the eye with the knowledge that he’d have to one day look away. Even for a moment. He wanted to be a present and good parent–in the way his mother had been with him– and for all the things he could jump into with confidence he’d climb back out, this was not one of them.

 _“She would have been proud of you,”_ Isshin said one day, out-of-the-blue, and Ichigo didn’t know how to interpret that without the accompanying jab to his kidney. In his book, there seemed to be only one language fathers spoke in and it sure as hell wasn’t one he’d picked up on to use with his own children.

But the sentiment, he supposed, was appreciated.

…

On nights Ichigo peered over the edge of rooftops and stared into the seemingly endless pit of darkness below, the one force that seemed to pull him back by the collar was this, the life he’d built. Moving back to Karakura after college was not something he’d had to think too deeply about; this was his city, in the way that Spider-Man had New York, and Astro Boy had Metro City and Superman had the whole damn world. This was his playing field, the same stretch of land where he’d grown up, scuffed his knees, had his first kiss. Slashed his first Hollow, even, with a zanpakuto that had seemed too large for the kind of responsibility he was willing to wield at the time. Two wars and a barrage of _life_ later, the world was his oyster – right in the palm of his hand.

“ _So why the hesitation?”_ the Old Man rumbled, his voice a deep thunder running through Ichigo’s mind.

“Zangetsu,” Ichigo spoke, after a beat.

 _“King’s in over his own head as per usual. Fuckin’ buzzkill,”_ his counterpart chuckled. “ _You’d think he’d have matured with all that new forehead to show, eh, Old Man?_ ”

“… _He’s not wrong, Ichigo.”_

Ichigo grimaced. There were no secrets here, with every reflection of his inner world being a reflection of, well, himself. But that didn’t mean they had to be so honest about it.

“ _You look to the past in fear, Ichigo_ ,” the Old Man continued sagely, “ _when you should be looking to the future with courage._ ” His dark eyes pierced into Ichigo with an insight that was neither comforting nor disconcerting, but familiar. Honest. “ _Have we failed you before_?”

“Of course not,” Ichigo replied softly. “You guys have my back, right?”

“ _Duh_.”

“ _Always_.”

“Then I guess there’s no other way to go about it.” Ichigo flashed a determined smile, a full one that was real in every sense of the world, growing wider when he saw the Old Man’s wistful smile and the Hollow’s mischievous grin.

His vision turned watery as the cool pillow under his head anchored him back to consciousness. The muted patter of rain shook and vibrated around their substandard apartment, the patterns of it reflecting dancing spots on Orihime’s shifting back.

She turned over and blinked her doe-eyes open, rubbing her cheek with a knuckle as she regarded him sleepily. “Your reiatsu felt different. Are you okay?”

He nodded, all too used to waking her up after his nightly Hollow watch to feel too guilty. He let his hand trail from her cheek, to her neck, to the curve of her shoulder, before eventually settling on her back. “You remember what we talked about? About what you wanted for your birthday this time?”

They were still a few days behind schedule, but Orihime liked to plan these things ahead in her little diary and Ichigo was nothing, if not determined to make it happen. Yet, there were some things that even he couldn’t control, like the weather, and traffic, and, as it happened, his wife’s cycles. 

Orihime’s brows furrowed, then lit up in realization. It was almost like he could trace every thought, every neuron that twitched in her brain and pulled her muscles into a smile – mostly because he felt like, at this point in time, his body was mirroring her own.

“Zangetsu thinks we’re ready,” he explained, and it was really testament to the weird shit they’d seen in their lives that Orihime didn’t question him one bit about the fact that his zanpakuto spirits were in the know about this part of their life. He wondered if Tsubaki knew. He opened his mouth to ask her, but she was already shuffling around her drawers to pull out her pink notebook, the one with overly obvious imagery coded in pictures of flowers and bees and whatnot.

“Well, I’d say Zangetsu has good timing, because it looks like…” she trailed, flipping the pages to September in confirmation, “We’d be in business that week!” She met his gaze with a wide, happy smile, then turned to the ceiling as she tapped her chin. “Though we _would_ be cutting it a bit close, considering we’re already kind of coming up on my good days.” She paused, and he saw the light bulb going off in her head when she said, “I think we should try every day. For science.”

She grinned sheepishly, her cheeks apple-pink at her victory in sneaking that in not-so-sneakily.

“Every day, huh?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, then.”

Orihime snorted in laughter, reaching back over to stuff her diary back where it belonged. When she returned, she snuggled into his chest with a happy sigh. “Well, it does take two to tango.” She nudged his shoulder with her chin, nestling her head to look up at him. “That’s what the math says.”

“I’ll leave the math to you,” he agreed, squeezing her in a haphazard hug. It was quiet, then, just the two of them contemplating until he heard her tiny sniffle and he smiled, knowing full-well who the easy crier was going to be, of the two of them.

“I’m going to be the embarrassing parent, aren’t I?” she asked, moments later, laughing through her tears. “Crying on the first day of school, and graduation, and moving in boxes to their dorm.”

He chuckled too, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Yep.” He squeezed her hand. “Part of who you are, no shame in that.” Putting on a brave face had been his forte for as long as he could remember anyway and he didn’t mind keeping his cool if it meant his wife could flip out over all the milestones – though, a small, horrifying thought did occur to him that a baby might just soften him entirely and turn him into his dad. He shuddered.

 _‘Here’s hoping I have my mother’s head going into this,’_ he thought, gazing at Orihime’s belly out of the corner of his eye with an afterthought –

– _‘and you have hers.’_

…

Despite the light teasing they’d gotten from friends and family, Orihime had quite liked her birthday present this year. She and Ichigo had spent much of her birthday in bed, lazily making love until they were bone-tired and giddy and she had loved it. There was something about being this _in love_ that made her feel dewy and full of a glow that made the inevitable months of sickness almost worth it. Watching Ichigo even now, meticulously going over something on his laptop with a frown, she felt full with joy that she’d had the patience to stick out with her life and make it work, no matter how hard or scary it had gotten.

“Your shirt is on backwards,” she said with a laugh, setting the last plate in the dishwasher before coming up to him and tugging his collar for emphasis. “Did you go to work like this?”

He grabbed her wrist, eyes lingering on the screen for a split second before he clicked out and turned to look at her. “No,” he lied, earning another peal of laughter from her. “No one noticed,” he remedied. 

“ _I_ did,” she sang, trying to skip out of the way but meeting resistance from the counter behind her. He followed, crowding her in until they were close enough for him to brush her bangs out of her eyes. She dragged his hand to her cheek and held it there, content with how warm it was.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, nudging her. “Have you been getting enough rest?”

Orihime grinned. “I don’t even feel pregnant yet,” she said, “I think it’s going to take a while for me to _really_ start feeling it.”

“Let’s hope it’s an easy one,” he replied, with the naivety of someone who had no idea what a pregnancy was like. “Do you need anything? Glass of water, maybe?” He tried to reach around her to grab one, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Ichigo,” she warned, pushing him back with her palms on his chest. “It’s going to be a long nine months, you should really save your energy for when I can’t get up to go pee by myself or something – not when I’m,” she gestured to her belly, “barely pregnant.” Then, her eyes brightened. “In fact, I was reading an article the other day about how you can do jumping jacks until the third trimester!”

Ichigo paled. “Orihime –“

“I’m not _going_ to, I was just trying to say you don’t have to worry.” Orihime rolled her eyes. She pretended not to be hurt at his relieved sigh, but he noticed her face and tilted her to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “That was stupid of me to say. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be reckless, with the baby and everything.” His eyes were repentant, but warm when he poked at her belly. “You, though. You be careful. Don’t hurt your mommy.”

She laughed, before looping her arms around his waist. “I’ve never had a mommy,” she admitted to him quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. Underneath her body, she felt him tense as his arms tightened around her.

She had always wondered what it was like. Ichigo would only ever mention his mother on occasion – when they were alone, or with his sisters – but it was always on his terms and he was always cagey about it, like he’d withdraw within himself if you pushed him further – which she never did. His eyes were always a dead giveaway however, adorably shy and sweet as he’d confess to her that their favourite thing to do when he was younger was to visit the library, and then the park, and then ice cream, holding hands with her the entire Sunday – a strictly Ichigo-and-Masaki day until Masaki had gotten pregnant a second time and Ichigo had to forego ice cream and park time so his mom wouldn’t be too tired out by the end of it. Orihime held all these memories close to her heart, even if she never really understood it, because she knew they were important to Ichigo and Ichigo was important to her. 

Ichigo kissed her ear but didn’t ask. He never asked about her parents, even if she could tell sometimes that he wanted to, and she loved him all the more for it. Her memories weren’t as sweet as his, and she really didn’t like thinking back to the raw fear that throbbed in her chest when the front door so much as opened in the middle of the night, or the stale stench of beer, or the bump of a stitch-scar on the back of her neck that Ichigo sometimes soothed over with a tight look in his eyes that made her chest ache. He didn’t need to know that all mothers were not like his mother. The world had been cruel enough to him and if she could protect him from this one thing, she would. 

“My parents were young too,” she said softly, letting Ichigo rub her back. “They were…they were like us, in a way.”

She wondered all the time if her mother had been a sweet little thing, chubby and boisterous and clumsy like her legs were perpetually tied together. Wondered if she crossed her father in the hallways and wished him a good morning with all the sweetness in her chest she could muster; if he smiled back or simply played it off with calculated indifference because he wanted to look cool in front of all his friends. She wondered if her father had ever held her mother tight and whispered in her ear all the things Ichigo would say to _her_ , on nights she couldn’t sleep.

Mostly, she wondered if there had ever been love at all, before things went rotten, or if her place in this world had been mostly due to random circumstances that linked random people together.

“No,” Ichigo said, pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head. “They weren’t, and neither are mine. And that’s okay.”

Orihime rubbed her belly with her palm, feeling full with the prospect that – even on bad days – her baby would be surrounded by love. They wouldn’t know life like she had and death like Ichigo had, and wouldn’t ever have to question their time or place in this world. They were here for a reason, a leap of courage that both she and Ichigo had taken into the future – despite everything that tried to chain them to the past.

And that was okay.

…

When Kazui was born, his hair was dappled in such a brilliant orange-and-gold that Isshin’s eyes grew misty in recognition. It had been many, many years since he held Ichigo in his arms for the first time, and the memory reignited in his belly like a slow fire. Born mere hours ago and he was already the king of the world, nestled between the protective embrace of his parents.

Ichigo and Orihime had come to Isshin with the name, only weeks ago, and it swelled his heart in a bittersweet way, to know they had set a precedent for who their son was going to be. What he was going to represent. He’d often wondered if he’d failed with Ichigo, if he and Masaki had made a mistake in carving out a future for their little boy before he was old enough to decide for himself what he wanted to be. Regret rose bitterly to his throat like smoke, accompanied only by its sweet relief.

The caveat here was this: Masaki was never wrong and Ichigo, Ichigo grew into his role like he’d been born for it. Paraded around realms with the insignia _‘he who protects’_ – and had committed to it far better than Isshin himself had committed to, well, anything.

And so Isshin found himself clapping Ichigo’s shoulder, saying what he should have every time the boy came home alive, every time he saved worlds and guided wayward souls to the afterlife, “I’m proud of you, Ichigo.” A pause. “Your mother would have been too.”

They both know which of the two is more important to Ichigo, but the fact that he is important at all is far more than he deserves and so they stand, father-and-son-and-grandson, as the torch is passed on to the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I am back from my writing hiatus, but requests are going to be on pause until I post all my WIPs. Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://kazeshini-s.tumblr.com/) though!


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